The Tomato of My Eye
by theoneshotter
Summary: Nobody likes Romano. He's rude, he curses...the list goes on. Maybe, somewhere, there is a glimmer of hope for our small tomato. Rated T for mild cursing, just in case. Not slash, sorry France. Oneshot


**A/N: I use country and human names so here's a guide**

**Spain-Antonio**

**France-Francis**

**Prussia-Gilbert**

**N. Italy-Feliciano**

**S. Italy (Romano)-Lovino**

* * *

"_Hola mis amigos_! _Me llama Antonio, y…_"

"Ignore him, _mon cher_, he is a country bumpkin."

"That isn't true! Should I remind you of the Spanish Inquisition…"

"Ah, when you murdered all those innocents?" Antonio "harrumphed" and glared at his blond friend.

"I couldn't help that they had never had smallpox before!"

"_Oui_ Tonio. Whatever you say. ANYWAY, my name is Francis, and I represent the country that is by far the best-."

"_Kesesesesese~_ are you trying to say that France is more awesome than the great Prussia?"

"Oh shut up Gilbert, you don't exist anymore."

"I do to! West, tell them that I exist." The albino had a strong-looking blond by the collar. "C'mon lil' bro. Explain."

"Very well." Prussia's little brother sighed deeply. "_Mein bruder_ was his own country until World War II."

"_Empire_." The nation interjected. His brother continued as if he hadn't said anything.

"He was supposed to have been dissolved, but Russia took control over him." Suddenly, a tall man in a light brown coat and white scarf appeared.

"You kolled? You wish to become one with Mother Russia, da? Ah, hello Gilly, long time no see." Gilbert paled, if that was even possible.

"Eeeek! West! Save me!" He dove behind his brother, whose muscular frame concealed him completely. The blond sighed again.

"Why do I keep getting interrupted?"

"Because no one likes Germany." France said smugly. "You have no _passion _when you make love. You are so cold and heartless, and you never drink anything besides beer. Thank God you have Italy to show you how things are done. Maybe he will warm you up a bit."

"Shut up about Feli!" Germany turned red with rage.

"Beer?" Asked Prussia, coming out from behind him. "Beer is awesome."

"Champagne!" Yelled France.

"No, vodka. I'm afraid I will have to brutally murder all of you if you do not agree." Russia smiled cutely. The other three looked at him with horror swimming in their eyes.

"_Mis amigos_! Guess who's here!" Spain smiled and sunlight filled the room.

"Who?" Germany asked warily.

"Feliciano and Lovi~!" The Italy brothers walked in, one skipping, the other stalking angrily.

"Germany~!" Feliciano cooed, wrapping the stunned nation in a warm hug.

"_Ach mein Gott_ Italy! Don't do that…" The man's words fell on deaf ears, however, as the chocolate-haired country nuzzled his sculpted chest.

"Don't be a jerk to my brother, you stupid potato bastard." Lovino crossed his arms and glared at everyone.

"Hello to you too, Romano." Germany sighed.

"Do you have any tomatoes, Mr. Boss-bastard-sir?" the irate Italian huffed in the direction of Spain.

"Ah, _sì_. Over there, you cute little _tomate_!"

"I told you, DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Amber eyes flaming, he headbutted his boss in the stomach.

"You're so adorable when you're mad." Antonio grinned weakly, doubled over and holding his stomach with care.

"Can you say _famille dysfuntional_?" France shook his head with an elegant sigh. "_Mathieu_ and I get along so well!"

"Who?" Asked Prussia.

"My colony, _cher_, **Canada_._**"

"Oh." Prussia looked confused for a moment, then his red eyes flashed with recognition. "Oh! My snowy bro who plays awesome videogames with awesome me! He's got a lot that his bro gave him…" His face melted into a wistful smile. "Yup, those American dudes are awesome. Not as awesome as me, of course, but still pretty awesome!"

"_Mon petit_ is NOT American!"

"Wha-oh right. He looks just like America though, but a lot quieter. I barely even notice him sometimes." Italy nodded in agreement.

"_Ve~_ _Fratello_ and I sometimes forget he's there. He's like a ghost. Right Romano?"

"Don't drag me into this." Replied Romano around a mouthful of tomato.

"MUST you talk with your mouth full?" Germany wrinkled his nose in disgust. Romano hissed audibly.

"Oooooh, you're gonna get it West! That Italian does NOT like you!" Prussia chuckled gleefully.

"I don't understand why. I haven't done anything to him, he has no right to hate me." Germany looked almost crushed, he turned to Italy, searching for answers. "Italy, you and your brother are so different! Why?" The sweet Italian shrugged.

"_Ve~_ I don't know. Grandpa Rome says that he might have been dropped on his head. He doesn't play well with others." He shook his head sadly.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO HATE ALL OF YOU!" Romano's face was tomato-red, and his eyes flashed dangerously. He turned on his heel and stomped out the door, slamming it behind him.

Romano muttered under his breath as he stalked down the hall. He stopped when he saw a door that read "kitchen." Yelling always made him hungry. Rage and injustice still roaring in his veins, he threw open the door.

Spain looked up as he came in.

"_Hola_." The sad, wary look in his usually sparkling green eyes gave Romano pause.

"What's wrong with YOU? And how did you get in here, I didn't see you leave."

"You were too busy sulking." Antonio sighed and put his elbows on the table he was sitting at. Romano watched curiously as he put his head into his hands and muttered something.

"What?" Romano just couldn't yell. Spain, for some strange reason, looked…sad.

"Nothing. My stomach hurts, that's all. You've got a hard head, Lovi." Oh. That's what it was. He felt a pang of…was that guilt? Was he, Romano, terror of the family, the thorn in Spain's side, sorry? Nah, that couldn't be right. After all, THEY were the bad guys here. The ones that had pushed him around when he was little, trying to give him away, free, to anyone who would take him. Grandpa Rome left him at Mr. Austria's, who in turn gave him to Spain. He was the one who currently put up with him, but he was always threatening to send him away. Trouble was, thought Romano forlornly, there was no one to send him away TO. Nobody but Spain even wanted him around.

Except France. Only France was a creep who would do weird things to him. At least, that's what Boss said. He said that he would never, EVER let France have him. Romano almost smiled at the memory. Sometimes his boss could be so protective. Like the time when MAJORLY creepy Turkey stole him, and Spain sent his bull to attack him. He looked at his guardian, and noticed that he still held his head in his hands.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly, walking to stand beside him.

"Hmmm?" Spain looked up. "Ah, _sì, estoy bien_." At Romano's blank look, he chuckled quietly. "I'm fine. You don't listen when I try to teach you Spanish, do you?" Romano hung his head. Spain's eyes widened. "Lovi~, what's wrong? You aren't yelling, _Dios mio_, are you feeling alright?" Romano felt tears spring to his eyes. He wiped them away angrily. Spain stood and bent slightly to look into his eyes. Romano turned his head away. "Please tell me what's wrong." Antonio put a hand on his charge's shoulder, testing the waters. When he didn't pull away and call him a bastard, he cautiously wrapped his arms around the little nation. To his surprise, Romano leaned into him, hugging him back.

"I-I know why nobody likes me." He began softly, his tears falling freely. "It's 'cause I'm a jerk. I'm rude, I hit people, I curse…" He trailed off into hiccupy sobs.

Spain squeezed the little guy tighter, burying his face in his soft auburn hair. He smelled like tomatoes and earth, clean and good.

"I like you, Lovino. I think you are the best colony a country could have." Romano looked up.

"Really?"

"Yep." Spain smiled down at his tear-stained face. "I wouldn't have anyone else. Life would be too boring, and who else do I know that loves tomatoes almost as much as I do?"

"Good point. Now geddoff, you're being weird." Romano shoved him away and went to riffle through the cabinets. Antonio watched him with pride. Lovino was his, and no matter how rude, annoying, or blatantly mean he could be, Spain loved him. After all, when he blushed or got angry, he was the cutest little tomato that ever existed.


End file.
